


lost but never found

by eunoia_x



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Abandonment, Abandonment Issues, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Foster Family, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Arguing, Attempt at Humor, Childhood Trauma, Eventual Fluff, Family Dynamics, Fluff and Humor, Foster Care, Found Family, High School, How Do I Tag, I have no idea what I’m doing, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, My First AO3 Post, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Child Abuse, Sibling Rivalry, Trust Issues, lots of cussing from a specific blond, phil is just trying to be a good dad, some crime
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-15 17:34:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29936949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eunoia_x/pseuds/eunoia_x
Summary: we found ourselvesin the same labyrinththat they placed betson us getting lost in.— s.r.wHe didn’t want a father. He didn’t want brothers. He didn’t want afamily. Tommy had been given a chance at that, and they’d abandoned him for their own benefit. He’s been lost for seven years, so why should he have any hope that he’ll finally be found?
Relationships: Dream SMP Ensemble & TommyInnit, Technoblade & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Comments: 13
Kudos: 166





	1. shoplifting, at two in the morning?

**Author's Note:**

> alright, welcome to what might be an absolute shit show of a story ! this is the first time i’ve ever posted my writing on ao3, so bear with me. 
> 
> ~~*this is in no way based on the creators themselves, but rather a plot i’ve been wanting to write for quite sometime now. it’s just easier to toss in characters that people already know, y’know 😅*~~

Tommy was, in every sense and synonym of the word, a bitter child. Resentful, disgruntled, spiteful, hostile, hate-filled, and the list went on and on. His bright blue eyes were cold as ice; frigid and penetrating straight through anyone who dared to hold his gaze for longer than a few seconds. His mouth spewed insults and vulgarities like it was a language of its own, one he had so easily mastered. The coloring beneath his chilling eyes was a smudged shade of blue. Exhaustion weighing heavily on his body, his bony shoulders seeming to be permanently slouched forward. All of this and he was only thirteen. _A kid._

He’d been in the foster system for as long as he could remember, just a few bleary pieces of his biological parents stored away in his mind. His mother had short blonde hair and only called him ‘ _Tom’_ in a voice that was oh-so-soft. He didn’t remember what his dad looked like, but he remembered the deep sound of his voice and the heavy accent tied to it. Tommy still had the same accent, his words thickly laced with the same drawl his father had used when speaking. 

They divorced when he was five. He remembered staring up at his parents faces, which were now hazy in his memory, with confusion etched onto his features when they told him that they weren’t going to be living together anymore. They’d still be his mommy and daddy, but they would just live in different houses. He’d been bribed into understanding everything without shedding tears when the two adults had offered _double birthdays_ and _double the Christmas gifts._ What four-year-old would say no to that? The excitement from those offers had worn off after the first two months when his mother explained she was moving to the United States with her new, very American, boyfriend. He’d watched her board a plan and decided then and there, as the plane took off, that he hated everyone from America. After that, he didn’t remember much. The days blurred together. His dad told him he was going to live with some of his old friends, but then they’d given him to a nice old lady after a couple of weeks. _”They just weren’t ready for kids yet._ The older woman, his social worker at the time, though he hadn’t understood what that word meant, would give him to another nice couple, and then a few weeks later he would see her again and have to go find a new home. The cycle had repeated like that for the past seven years. 

Seven years of being lost but never found had created the holy terror that now sat at the local police station with his feet propped up on the seat across from him. The chairs original arrangement hadn’t been that way beforehand, but Tommy had taken it upon himself to shift the white plastic seats around so that he could be more comfortable. The cold metal off an officers handcuffs hung heavily on Tommy’s wrist and ankle, the teenager anchored down so that he wouldn’t be able to make another attempt at escaping the station. His first try had nearly been successful, but unfortunate timing landed him on his ass in a pile of snow when he’d slammed into an officer just entering through the stations glass doors. Now, he had one ankle secured to the leg of _“Officer Donahue, call me me Erin”_ ’s desk. The other set of shackles had been tightened around his right wrist and then clasped onto the arm of the flimsy, plastic chair. At least the people had half a mind to also attach him to something heavy, like the desk, so that Tommy couldn’t make a run for it with a plastic chair trailing wildly behind him. That would be a sight to see

“Shoplifting, at two in the morning? Did you _think_ the employees weren’t going to question why a kid was waltzing out of the store with a bulging coat and a backpack that looked like it was going to explode?” A sharp, exasperated voice cut through the fuzzy silence that had enveloped Tommy’s mind. His new social worker, _James— jimmy— John?_ He didn’t remember the man’s name, but he was pretty sure it started with a J, had arrived around thirty minutes earlier to begin lecturing Tommy on how idiotic and reckless his actions had been. _Yada, yada, yada, he’d heard this so many times before._  
“I understand the clothes— _that doesn’t meant I condone stealing, Thomas_ — but vodka? boxed red wine? What are you, some middle aged soccer mom?” J-guy asked in clear frustration as he paced back and forth with a phone in his hand, typing furiously against the keyboard with his thumbs. 

“Bold of you to assume I’m _not_ some middle aged soccer mom,” Tommy offered with an eye roll, leaning further back in his seat until the front legs lifted off the ground. A quick _’stop that’_ from J-man had him smirking, but in the end obeying, as he rested the chair back onto all four legs. _Since when did this guy become such a buzzkill?_

“You’ve gotten so boring, has that wife of yours been a real let down like I said she would be?”

“No, Thomas, she’s been fine—“

“Just _fine_?”

“Thomas—“

“How many times have you had sex—“

“Thomas!” 

The teenager fell quiet, a triumphant look spreading across his face at the frazzled state he’d managed to work J-guy into. The man’s reddened face showing his clear discomfort at the question proposed by the thirteen year old who was still being held against his will in a plastic chair. All the social worker could do was give a heavy sigh as he returned his attention back to the iPhone in his hand.

“I was able to find someone to take you in as an emergency placement tonight. It’s just a temporary home until I can find another family who will be willing to house you, but can you _please_ act civil with these people for a week— at the very least?” J-sir shoved his phone into his pocket as he turned his attention back to the blonde who sat sprawled out across the two chairs. Another sigh escaping the man’s lips as he brought a hand up to rub his forehead, “Please? I went to high school with this guy and he’s really, really great. He has two other sons who are a little older than you, but I’m sure you’ll fit in great.”

Two other kids, especially sons, always meant hell for Tommy. J-dude knew that too, but he decided not to comment on it, instead, the young teenager simply rolled his eyes for the umpteenth time before agreeing in a grumble. _What other options did he have?_  
“If I don’t like them, I’m not staying.” It wasn’t a threat or retort meant to stir up an argument with J-pal, but rather a simple fact. He hadn’t liked the family he’d been with previously, and look where he was now. Sitting in a law enforcement station after running away, a few plastic bags full of stolen goods sitting on like desk like some mocking reminder of the footnotes that would be added onto Tommy’s file. 

“Alright.” A look of relief washed over J-gent’s features, the man gesturing for an officer walking past the doorway to come free Tommy from his bonds. As he stood, the teenager did an experimental shake of his arm and leg to make sure they were still working properly before he hoisted his bright red backpack over his shoulder and trailed out of the station. A bright smile covering his face as the receptionist at the front desk shot him a tired glare. Tommy hadn’t been the quietest of people when he was drug into the station earlier that night, and apparently she was still holding a grudge over his loud, ear-piercings complaints.

“Buckle in. There’s a blanket under the seat if you want to cover up and nap.” Everything about J-lad’s car was familiar to Tommy by now. From the way he always had the same tree shaped, air-freshener hanging in the windshield, to the soft cotton blanket that he had folded up under the passengers seat in case he ran into a scenario like the one he was in right now. A tired child ready to curl up and nap until they made it to a new doorstep to be dumped on for the night. 

“Sleep is for the weak,” Tommy hummed as he fought back a content sigh as warm air blasted out of the air vents. The blanket wrapped around his shoulders trapping even more warmth against his skin, and before he knew it, his heavy lidded eyes were fluttering shut.

It was almost six am by the time Tommy pried his eyes open. The streetlights were still on, but the color was dull as the darkness faded further on the horizon. The rows of suburban homes acting like a maze for J-chap who was trying, and failing, to find the right address. The oddly pitched voice of his iphone’s GPS giving useless directions as it too seemed stumped by the labyrinth of streets and homes.  
“Do you see it?” J-boy questioned as he took a sip of his coffee the he must’ve gotten from a gas station while Tommy had been dozing off in dreamland. Based on his tone, J-dude seemed ready to fall asleep at the wheel, the only thing remaining between him and the promise of returning to his own bed was finding the correct house to finally get the teen off of his hands. Another huff leaving the man’s lips as he realized the addresses printed out on the mail boxes weren’t visible in the fog thickened darkness. 

“No, I don’t see it. Why couldn’t I have stayed at your home tonight? I’m sick and tired of having to be placed in new home’s” Tommy muttered sleepily, his chin tucked against his chest as he brought a hand up to scrub the sleep from his eyes. His bright red backpack tucked at his feet, the cotton blanket still draped over him. They’d been driving for almost three hours, and the true weight of his exhaustion was just now starting to set in. Apparently the nap had only worsened his need for sleep— and food. Tommy’s stomach growled slightly even if he’d just devoured an entire bag of powdered donuts back at the police station. 

“I’ve already told you why, I have a wife, two toddlers, and an infant who I can’t risk wake up at three in the morning. Besides, both my wife and I have very busy jobs and we wouldn’t be able to give you the care you _deserve._ You know if I was able to, I’d already have taken you in by now,” J-fellow sighed, his voice softer than Tommy had heard it in years. The man had taken over as his social worker when Tommy had turned nine, and from then on he was the only constant in his ever-changing life. The one person he could call if things got too rough in a foster home. “Just count yourself lucky I found this home on such short notice! This is quite literally the only option I have at the moment. So please be on your best behavior, at least until I find someone else that’s willing take you. There’s still the option of that all boy’s boarding school.....” J-bloke knew how much Tommy despised the idea of being sent off to boarding school, and it might have been an unfair threat, especially so late— or early, depending on how you looked at it— with him in such a drained state, both physically and mentally, but he had to make sure the teen was good for at least a few weeks. Until a more suitable placement could be found.

“Whatever,” Tommy breathed, biting back the curses that threatened to fall from his lips. As the car continued to creep through the neighborhood in search of a specific address, the teen combed a shaky, shivering hand through his unbrushed hair. His eyes had caught a brief glimpse of discoloration on his wrist, and he stared down at the soft bruising beginning to form on his wrist from where his arms had been pinned behind his back by a cop who was a little too handsy. It hurt— a lot more than he cared to admit, but he didn’t want to start whining about such a small injury. He was tough. _A big man._

“I’m sorry, I know your tired. Just.....please try to be good for me, alright bud?” J-guy repeated for the millionth time since picking him up at the station, his voice wavering with fatigue as he finally found the address he’d been searching for. His black SUV pulling up into a concrete driveway of a home that looked a little larger than what Tommy was used to. The stonework and sage green coloring of the wood looking like some sort of run-of-the-mill home in every coming of age film. Overall, Tommy’s first impression was that it seemed so fucking _domestic._

A shroud of silence fell over them as J-male shut off the car, the sound from the engine dying away. Thoughtlessly, the man reached over to ruffle the boy’s messy mop of hair as he spoke again into the hazy darkness, “Come on, grab your things. It’s late and I’m sure you want to be in bed just as much as I do,” the social worker forced on a smile as he climbed from the car into the chilly air. Tommy slowly following suit after he’d fought back a grimace at the touch. Balling the blanket up in his hands, Tommy tucked it back beneath the seat before grilling his backpack by one of the straps and scampering after his social worker to the porch. J-sir knocking gently against the wooden door before Tommy had the chance to get up the steps.  
“Don’t wait on me, it’s not like I’m going to be staying here for a week or anything,” Tommy grumbled as he halted at the top of the steps next to the man. His posture was still slumped as he gazed down at his shoes, wishing his eyes could be closed and snores escaping his mouth. 

Before J-pal had a chance to reply to his snarky comment, the door slowly creaked open to reveal a man with blonde hair, clad in a green house robe, standing in the threshold with a smile that was _way to fucking bright_ for how early it was. “Jason, it’s good to see you again! And you must be Thomas,” the hand that wasn’t nursing a cup of coffee was outstretched to the teenager. Blue eyes glaring straight into the man’s own bright orbs, Tommy refusing to make any move to accept the handshake.  
“I’m Phil,” the middle aged man didn’t even seem phased that Tommy hadn’t accepted his outstretched hand, dropping it back to his side like nothing had happened as he continued speaking. “My sons are still asleep right now since it’s a weekend, but you’ll be able to meet them later. For now, I’m sure you’re both exhausted. How about I show you to your room?”

Jason, _Tommy knew it started with a J_ , said something else that the teenager didn’t catch. He’d zoned out off the conversation, choosing to stare at the pictures framed on the walls inside the cozy home. The man, Phil, standing with two other boys who varied in age depending on the photo. Tommy wasn’t close enough to get a good glimpse, but they definitely seemed older than him based on what looked like a more recent photo. 

“- yes, thank you so much again. If you’ve got everything handled, I’ll be on my way. I’ll call to check up on you later, alright, Thomas?” Jason said from beside him, Tommy giving a disinterested nod at the man’s parting words that he’d listened to a million times before. Once the sound of a car engine started and then slowly faded away as Jason pulled out of the driveway, Tommy looked back to Phil as he was now left alone with just him on the front porch. The too cheery man still smiling like someone had gorilla glued the expression onto his face.  
“Well come on then, I’ll show you up to your room!” 

The wall closing in one side of the steps also had photos hung on display, along with what looked to be certificates, ribbons, and other awards. _Oh great. Phil had sons who were smart and had actual proofs of achievements that they’d made in life— shit._ His grip on the banister tightened for a split second, the teen briefly contemplating just making a run for it right there. The warmth of the home and promise of sleep made him decide otherwise.  
“This is your room right here! I’ll give you a full tour of the house in the morning, but the bathroom is that door right there, and my room is at the very end of the hall if you need anything.” Phil’s voice had lowered an octave now that they’d traveled upstairs, and Tommy guessed that was because the other two closed doors belonged to his sleeping sons. _Screw them. Why did they get to sleep so soundly when Tommy had been up for the past twenty-something hours with just a brief nap in Jason’s car? The man was a terrible driver, and each pothole had jostled Tommy’s snoozing form._

“‘ight.” Tommy didn’t even look around the room’s interior, but rather, turned and offered a muttered thanks to the man standing in the hallway before practically slamming the door in his face. _Maybe that would wake up his two kids._

It only took four long strides across the room and an extra second to kick off his shoes before the young teen was collapsing face first onto the white duvet and effectively crashing into a dark, dreamless sleep. The last thought crossing his mind was that the room smelled heavenly with its hints of lavender and vanilla.


	2. i’m allergic to women

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for all of the support on the last chapter! hopefully you all enjoy this update! <3
> 
> character ages:
> 
> tommy: 13  
> techno: 17  
> wilbur: 18 ( almost nineteen )  
> philza: 33

_Was something burning?_

Tommy awoke groggily to the scent of something charring, the notes of lavender and vanilla smothered out by the smoldering scent. A fleeting memory of the last time he’d used a stove passing through his mind. No one had been burnt or food poisoned from his terrible attempt at something akin to beanie weenies, but a dish rag had gone up in flames at some point during the cooking process. 

Using the heels of his hands to scrub furiously at his eyes, Tommy pushed himself into a sitting position. When he’d fallen asleep after slamming the door in the face of the way-too-cheery man, it had been dark outside. Now that the teenager was rejoing the waking reality that was his life, it was still dark. _What the fuck? Had he gotten stuck in some trippy twilight zone dimension?_

Searching the room for the first time since entering it early that morning, Tommy came up empty handed in locating a time source as most of the room seemed bare of anything other than the necessities. An oak wood desk sat on the wall opposite from the full sized bed he had been napping on, and a dresser was placed a few feet from the desk. The only window in the room had a small, but cozy looking, bench built into the wall beneath it. The sitting space was accented with a red cushion and fluffy white and black throw pillows. Other than that, the room was bland and bare. _It wasn’t like he’d be sticking around long enough to even complain about the drab decor._

_”Who the fuck forgot that the lasagna was in the oven?!”_

A shrill voice reverberated from somewhere downstairs, Tommy instinctively tensing at the unfamiliarity of a new voice. Whoever had spoken had an accent that was noticeably different from the man, Phil, who had greeted him at the door. _He had two sons, right? Was that one of them shouting about the scorching lasagna?_

 _“You’re the one who put it in there, you dipshit!”_

Another voice had added to the chaos, and Tommy was pretty confident that the voice belonged to Phil. His voice was higher pitched than the previous one, and that same goddamn bubbly tone carried over into the words he had just shouted. 

The curse so carelessly flying from the adult’s lips had been a surprise to Tommy as he was used to being scolded for his own vulgar language, but maybe one of Phil’s sons sounded eerily similar to him. Still, how would the man allow both of them to yell such vulgarities with a guest in the house without sending a blow their way? 

After a moment of waiting for any further arguments to erupt from the floor below him, Tommy finally decided it was time to make an appearance on the home’s first floor. The voices below had become muffled as they lowered to a more suitable pitch, and from the telltale signs of a pounding headache beginning to form, Tommy was grateful that no more shouting had ensued. 

His stomach growled audibly in the silent room to alert him of his desire to eat _something_ , and apparently, if lasagna had been on the menu for the next meal, it was nearing dinner time. That meant Tommy had slept through both breakfast and lunch. 

With a huff, Tommy finally forced himself to toss his legs over the edge of the bed and stretch out his aching limbs. He was rather tall for his age group, standing about five foot eight, but he was just beginning to hit another growth spurt. His lanky and awkward limbs hinting that he would soon sprout another few inches. _His father had been six foot, and Tommy was determined to be taller than the bastard by the time he finished growing._

The teen made slow progress of climbing out of the bed he hadn’t even bothered to unmake before falling asleep early that morning. Tommy had crashed on top of the soft, freshly changed sheets and slept like a baby. Not wanting to waste his time, Tommy began semi-remaking the bed after the long nap that left small indents on his cheeks. All he bothered doing was refluffing the pillows to make sure they looked somewhat neat in the sparse room. He could fix the wrinkled sheets later.

After poking his head out and checking for anyone roaming around the upstairs corridor, Tommy finally took a hesitant step out into the hall. Tiptoeing silently down the hall was harder than expected, and that wasn’t a good sign if he decided to make a run for it in the middle of the night. Squeaky hinges and creaking floorboards would have to be avoided if he wanted to keep the risk of being caught at a minimum. 

By now, with nearly seven years of the foster system under his belt, sneaking out had become a fine art mastered by the teenager. He could hop out of a two-story window with ease— and minimal injuries— or slip down hallways at the same volume as a mouse. It was second nature to have an eye and ear out at all times for his foster parents or any other risks. 

Years of loneliness and abandonment led people into doing all sorts of things for attention, and for Tommy, it was sneaking out to find a way to get all of his pent up emotions out or find someone who would just _notice_ him. Even if that was the local police chatting with him in the station until his foster parents arrived to pick him up after a night of rendezvousing through the streets and committing petty crimes.

The walk to the kitchen was short, hardly giving Tommy any time to clean up his disheveled appearance or reconsider his decision before his bare feet began making small tapping sound against the tiled floor. The off-white kitchen tiles cold beneath his feet, Tommy shivering at their chilly temperature. _Maybe he should’ve put a pair of socks on._

“How many times are we going to have takeout this week? I’m tired of losing _rock, paper, scissors_ to Techno every night and having to eat Chinese food!” 

Tommy briefly registered that the voice was the same that had shouted about the burning lasagna, but he didn’t have time to find the source of whoever had been spewing lasagna vulgarities before he was stumbling face first into a solid mass of _pure fucking muscle._ For the second time in twenty-four hours, Tommy had been toppled onto his ass. The teenager landing with a sharp _’oof’_ before he was scrambling a few feet away from the instigator of such despicable violence. 

_How dare anyone knock the strong, amazing, and tough Tommyinnit to the ground like he was a domino._

Tommy wouldn’t admit it to it, because his ego was just too massive, but the sudden silence engulfing the kitchen had his face burning bright red. His appearance sucking every sound out of the space as the conversation filling the room died on the tips of tongues, three sets of eyes now turned onto him. 

“Glad to see you finally decided to arise, sleeping beauty.” A deep, monotone voice spoke from somewhere above him. The words belonging to the same person that had knocked him over. 

“Oh that’s _so_ original, aren’t you such a funny guy—“

_Was he American?_

_Oh goddamnit, mother of Jesus Christ—_

“Whoa, whoa, hold on!” That was Phil talking again, the man suddenly inserting himself between Tommy and whoever this non-brit from across the big ocean thought he was. The scrawny teenager was back on his feet in mere seconds, already in a stance where he was poised to pounce, but he stopped short as he met the amber eyes of the pink haired man in front of him. _Pink fucking hair?_

“Did ya pick this one up from the pound, Phil?” The emotionless voice asked, his blank stare leveled straight at the fuming Tommy.

“Oh you bitch—“ 

“Hey, both of you, let’s calm down? Thomas, yeah?” Phil made some vague gesture towards the pink haired male so that he took a step away before his attention returned to the young blond. The older man had clearly placed himself so that he standing in front of Tommy, his view of the pinkette now hindered.

“It’s Tommy, don’t call me Thomas.”

“Tommy? Alright then, Tommy. How about we give this another shot— my sons aren’t necessarily great at making good first impression,” Phil admitted with a light chuckle, stepping to the side. His shift in stance allowing for Tommy’s view of the kitchen to become unobstructed so that he could properly inspect the other two occupants. 

The _American_ , who Tommy already decided was his mortal enemy, stood near the stainless steal fridge as he searched its contents for beverages to put out on the kitchen island for himself and the others in the home. Tommy wondering how the fuck he managed to still look so intimidating when his hair resembled the mane of pinky pie from _my little pony_. The only sign that the rosy locks weren’t part of a wig was the dark brown beginning to grow it’s way into the roots. 

The other person in the room, lasagna boy, seemed to be the tallest out of the four of them, standing a good head taller than Tommy. His fluffy brown hair looked like it hadn’t been brushed in weeks, but in a stylish way, not like Tommy’s own rats nest. The brunette also had a pair of wire rimmed glasses that sat on the bridge of his nose, and his gaze was surprisingly soft as he glanced between Tommy and the Chinese takeout menu in his hands.

“I know I’ve already introduced myself, but these are my two sons. Wilbur is the one with glasses, and Techno is the one with pink hair,” Phil told him, motioning to each boy as if Tommy wouldn’t be able to distinguish between them based on the descriptions he was given. 

“What kind of name is _Techno_?”

“It’s Technoblade, actually. So if you’d like to call me that, you’re more than welcome to, Thomas.”

“Oh, _I’m_ five seconds from taking a _blade_ to your fucking throat—“

“Ok,” Phil clapped his hands together, silencing the shorter blond who he vaguely registered had stiffened at the sudden movement and sound. It had been a handful of years since the man had last gotten a new foster placement, and he seemed a little rusty on remembering certain actions that would trigger discomfort for many of the kids and teenagers in the system. 

_This was going to take a lot of readjusting, for all of them._

“Wilbur isn’t the best cook in the family, so we were just getting ready to order takeout,” Phil began to explain, but Tommy’s attention was still stuck on the two other males currently inhabiting the kitchen. 

They both seemed significantly older than Tommy, leaving the already suspicious teen to become more unsettled. Why was Phil fostering— even just temporarily— if he already had two nearly grown sons? Maybe it was the lack of sleep or food deprivation, but Tommy hadn't even considered the idea that Wilbur and Techno weren’t Phil’s biological kids. The different accents did nothing to adhere at the lack of kinship between Phil and the two young adults in his kitchen.

From the photos Tommy had seen lining the walls earlier that morning, he wanted to assume that Wilbur had already graduated high school. He was positive that there had been a photo of the dark haired teenager standing in between his father and brother wearing a cap and gown. If he thought hard enough, he might have recalled seeing a high school diploma hanging somewhere on the wall. _That had to make Wilbur at least eighteen or nineteen, right? So what the hell did Phil want to do with a thirteen year old_

“—Tommy, mate? Do you have any allergies? I know your file didn’t mention it, but I just wanted to double check in case they forgot to add it.” Phil’s intrusive question cut into his thoughts, Tommy letting his brows knit together as he looked back up at the man who stood a few inches taller than him.

“Women.”

“Women— what— okay, uh, let me rephrase that. Do you have any _food_ allergies?“

“No.”

Tommy didn’t miss the smile that had found its way onto the brunette’s face across the room, the older boy clearly trying to hide a small chuckle as he cleared his throat. _Maybe he wouldn’t be quite as unbearable as the all-american-golden-boy still digging through the refrigerator._

“Well we usually just get a plethora of different things off of the menu to share, but if you have a specific request we can get that for you.” Phil’s voice was surprisingly calming, the gentle nature of his tone managing to defuse the anger that had been bubbling up in Tommy’s chest just a few moments earlier. 

“I don’t care, I’ll eat whatever.” Tommy didn’t have any interest in sticking around to have a _’family’_ dinner with these people, so the quicker he could get some food in his stomach, the better. 

“Ok, I’ll go ahead and call in the order. Try to behave yourselves for _five minutes_ ,” Phil said in an exasperated tone, giving his own kids a pointed look. The man gave Tommy one last glance, an odd look in his eyes that the teen couldn’t quite place his finger on, before he took the menu from Wilbur and promptly left the room to go call the small Chinese restaurant that was just a couple of blocks from their home.

“Sit down, you’re making _me_ nervous with all that fidgeting,” Wilbur— the one who had ruined the lasagna that had previously been planned for dinner— chuckled after Phil had left, motioning to the empty barstools across the island from him. 

Scoffing as the taller— _how could one person be so freakishly tall?_ — male pointed out his very obvious fidgeting, Tommy catiously made his way towards the center of the kitchen. _He was Tommyinnit the brave, he was not scared of being left alone with two fucking giants._

“I’m not fidgeting. The tiles are just freezing and my feet are bare,” Tommy said as some bullshit excuse, taking a seat across from Wilbur who had been leaning over with his elbows propped against the counter.

“Phil doesn’t like lying, so you better curve that habit real fast.” The stupid fucking American accent interrupted, Tommy whipping his head to the side to glare at _Technoblade._ If looks could kill, the pink haired bitch would be seventy feet under right about now.

“I’m not lying, you bitch. It’s cold as fuck in here.”

“You’re, like, five years old, watch your mouth.”

“Do you have a hoodie or something you could put on?” Wilbur asked over the bickering between Tommy and his own brother, raising an eyebrow at the young blond seated across from him.

Wilbur hadn’t been on board at first when Phil sat them down the night before to explain how Jason, an old college buddy now turned social worker, needed an emergency placement for a kid under his care. A _kid_ didn’t feel like the right word— the look in his eyes and hollowness of his face made Tommy look like he had been through things even most _adults_ wouldn’t have the chance to experience in their lifetime. 

It had been nearly six years since Phil had last fostered, so the possibility of completely screwing with their family dynamic had left Wilbur uneasy to the idea of a newcomer being tossed into the picture. Each of the Watson’s had their own unique personalities, and somehow they all clicked perfectly with one another. They were as close as you could get to a perfect family, and none of them knew if a new member would disrupt everything that had been built up over the years since Phil had adopted both teenagers. So far, from the few words Tommy had spoken at the top of his lungs, the kid clashed with everyone. A stubborn expression cemented onto his face as he glared at them as if they’d all just collectively killed his puppy.

“Of course I have a hoodie, you moron. Why would I need a hoodie when I said my _feet_ were cold?” Tommy snapped as he returned his piercing blue gaze back to Wilbur, the brunette simply staring back with an impassive expression. 

“Then why don’t you go put on a pair of socks?”

“Because I don’t want to.”

“Why?”

“Shut up, and fuck off,” Tommy huffed as he tore his eyes away from Wilbur’s honey brown stare. The blond slipping off the stool, replanting his feet on the ice cold tiles.

“Tell Phil to bring me some food whenever it gets here.” With that, Tommy disappeared back up the steps to his new— _temporary_ — room. Ignoring the soft protest from Wilbur as he called out his name. 

The _very_ poor first impression and brief interaction already had Tommy’s hands trembling and sweat beading on his forehead, and he didn’t want to stick around long enough for anyone to notice. Wilbur seemed to be the observant type, so the last thing he wanted was to be psychoanalyzed by him or the stupid American who probably had rocks for brains. 

Back in the safety of his room, Tommy closed the door with a little more strength than intended, wincing as the walls faintly rattled. _Maybe Phil would come stomping up the stairs to yell at him, at least then he could fall back into a routine with some sense of normalcy._

The last home he’d been in had felt very strongly about obedience, so Tommy was familiar with the idea of staying up into the wee hours of the morning as someone screamed themselves hoarse just to scold him. Sure he wasn’t the best listener, but he never felt as if his actions warranted such a reaction. He’d take yelling over punching any day, obviously, but sometimes he wished his foster parents would give him a good slap on the face and then leave him alone. It was easier to just get it over with and then forget anything had happened at all. _Forgive and forget— or whatever the saying was._

Tommy had briefly thought about slipping across the hall to shower, but the possibility of running into someone in the hallway had him picking his plan B. _Going back to sleep._

He flopped back on the soft bed, rolling over onto his back so he could stare up at the ceiling to pass the time— his brow immediately creasing at the sight above him, _Why the fuck were there glow in the dark stars stuck to the ceiling?_

Tommy sat pondering, and glowering, at the muted green stars until the soft patter of footsteps trailed up the stairs, someone knocking lightly on his door. _It was probably Phil coming to argue with him because he had shut himself in his room instead of staying downstairs for dinner._

“Hey, I brought you some food. Mind if I come in for a minute?” _Wilbur._ Hadn’t Tommy already told him to fuck off?

When the teenager didn’t give an audible reply, Wilbur seemed to take that as his cue to slowly push the door open and peak his head around it. A soft small forming on his features as he stepped into the room with a plate piled high with an assortment of different foods. 

“I knew you probably wouldn’t want to come down and eat dinner with us, so I told Phil I’d bring your dinner up to you,” Wilbur explained as he placed the plate of food on the desk by the wall opposite of Tommy. Wilbur was doing his best to tactfully keep distance between himself and the new teenager, and luckily, Tommy hadn’t immediately caught on. Wilbur had been in his shoes before, so he knew better than to get too close to him until he had settled in. 

“I didn’t get to properly introduce myself earlier, but I’m Wilbur. It’s nice to meet you,” the brunette greeted. 

“Phil said you got here pretty earlier this morning, are you still feeling tired?” Wilbur had sat down in the swiveling chair pushed out from the desk. The older teenager twisting back and forth casually as he chatted with Tommy as if he wasn’t some stranger that had been unceremoniously dumped on the front porch earlier that morning. 

“No. Sleep is for the weak,” Tommy, ignoring the greeting, repeated the same thing he’d told Jason earlier, the words eliciting a small laugh from Wilbur. _At least someone appreciated his jokes._

“Techno would agree with you on that one,” Wilbur said as he stopped spinning for a moment to look at Tommy, his expression morphing just barely as if he was analyzing him for something. _Shit— fuck— had he noticed his shaking hands or Tommy’s inability to stay still for more than five freaking seconds?_

“I think you’re going to like it here. No one is gonna pull anything on you, just so you know. Phil’s a good guy.” Tommy wasn’t dumb. He knew what Wilbur was trying to imply without outright saying so. _‘No one is going to hurt you here, it’s safe.’_

“Whatever— fuck off,” Tommy said to the other male for the second time that evening, the young teen’s expression hardening into an expressionless mask. He didn’t need any sympathy or pity from Wilbur— he didn’t need it from _anyone_. Tommy wasn’t scared of anything. Not being yelled at or hit. Not fighting with two freakishly tall teenagers. Not even staying in a home temporarily. _If he didn’t get attached, no one could abandon him._

Sighing once he realized the conversation wouldn’t be going anywhere else, Wilbur spared Tommy one last look as he finally left the room. The door shutting behind him with a soft click. When his footsteps faded down the hall, Tommy let out a sound between a groan and growl as he chucked a pillow at the chair where Wilbur had just been sitting. 

_He already hated this family with a burning passion._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a little all over the place, but i wanted to go ahead and establish some tension between tommy and his new brothers ✌🏻
> 
> if there are any typos, i will unfortunately be passing away.
> 
> also !!! if there are any micro-prompts ~~, or any ideas at all,~~ that you want to share in the comments, i would greatly appreciate it! i need all the ideas i can get for upcoming chapters.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much if you made it this far <3 
> 
> wilbur and techno will be introduced in the next chapter ! i’m honestly so freaking excited to write the dynamic between them and tommy, so prepare. 
> 
> aHhhh, also, if you saw typos, ~~no you didn’t :DD~~ , let me know or i might die. 
> 
> comments + constructive criticism are always welcomed !


End file.
